


the end of the sea

by andnowforyaya



Series: spiderman!youngjae [1]
Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bad Parenting, Comics/Movie Crossover, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Triggers, Violence, one-sided!daejae, spider-man!daejae, with more to come i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superheroes exist, but Youngjae would rather not be one of them. Still, this is an origin story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the end of the sea

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is basically a mish-mash of everything Marvel: Spider-Man (2000) and Ultimate Spider-Man (Comics, Miles Morales) and Avengers (movie).

Youngjae can almost time it down to the second that the back door to his neighbor's house will slam open with a metallic shudder, that Daehyun will come charging out with his wild, recently-dyed blond hair and dark, shadowed eyes, the yelling match that follows behind between his mother and step-father steadily growing in decibel.

"They're particularly loud today," Youngjae mutters when they meet at the fence separating their small, grid-like backyards, black trash bags in hand. If the fence weren't there, their backyards would be connected, their houses on either side like field posts. Daehyun pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and deftly shakes one out in one hand while tossing the trash into the bin with the other. He lights it just as quickly, inhaling and shaking his head so that his hair settles across his forehead. He's in sweats and a hoodie, but Youngjae thinks he always looks incredible.

"My step-dad is such a douchenozzle," Daehyun sighs, rolling his eyes. He offers Youngjae a drag from his cigarette and Youngjae, as always, declines politely. "I don't know why he still lives with us if my mom hates him so much. I guess he's got other merits," he concludes bitterly.

Youngjae remembers when, at the beginning of this school year, Daehyun had walked out to the fence sporting a freshly red cheek that would bruise the next day. That morning he'd kissed a senior, Yongguk, full on the lips while standing theatrically on a table in the cafeteria and announcing that he'd found the gay light, finally, to an audience of students pounding on the benches and whistling catcalls.

It hadn't been a big deal. Everyone had sort of quietly known, but his step-dad made sure to let him know what he thought of the whole thing. Youngjae wonders what it's like, living in a place like that; he wonders if that's better or worse than essentially being ignored by his own parents.

"I'm sure he doesn't," Youngjae tells Daehyun, pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. He's getting better at talking to him - no longer do the butterflies in his stomach when he sees him paralyze his thoughts and actions.

Daehyun used to dazzle him. He still does, but ever since that night - Youngjae thinks that maybe he's realized how much Daehyun could use one less admirer and one more friend.

"You're right," Daehyun agrees, taking another drag. "You're always right."

"What are they fighting about, this time?"

Daehyun shrugs. "Mostly me. Guy wants to send me away. Some military boarding school, or something, somewhere strict where being gay is not an option. Ha. Like we have the money. Or, like I won't end up blowing all the boys in the bathroom just to spite him."

Youngjae flushes at the sudden image, and Daehyun smirks. "Sorry," the blond exhales, eyes twinkling.

Youngjae stumbles over a response, but it's no use. Daehyun is already extinguishing the butt of the cigarette on the fence and turning away. "You take care, okay?" he says to Youngjae, voice sweet and low.

He walks away, and Youngjae reminds himself that he has a full problem set of advanced physics homework to push through before tomorrow morning.

.

It's not like Youngjae doesn't have any friends. He's got his photography club friends, and a few of them even know he joined a few years back because he'd seen Daehyun's photos of basketball games in the school paper. He kind of counts Daehyun as a friend, though he's been in love with him since the fifth grade, when Daehyun moved into the house behind him from this far-off place called California and smiled like he was holding the sun behind his teeth.

He pushes his way through the usual throng of students crowding the steps leading up to the front doors of the school, the security guards on duty trying to usher everyone through the newly-upgraded metal detectors before the first bell. Right inside the lobby, before the detectors, he sees a hook-nosed senior shove a gangly, awkward freshman into the wall. The freshman, pink-haired and pale, rights himself quickly, a protest on his lips, but just as quickly hunches into himself, retreating, when he sees which senior had pushed him.

Youngjae feels pity stir in the pit of his stomach, but marches on, even as the senior grasps the kid's back pack and upends its contents onto the grimy floor. It's no use getting involved.  

One day the freshman will start to time his entry into the school to avoid the senior, or maybe the senior will graduate or drop out.

Either way, not Youngjae's problem.

He shoulders past the scene and slips through the detector, just making it to the science lab for the first bell and homeroom.

The lab is typical of high schools in the city: long black tables with stools on either side, tubes and dials built into the surface of the tables, with a digital white board in the front that often does not work.

The teacher mumbles attendance and announcements, and near the front, Daehyun turns on his stool to wave his fingers at Youngjae, who numbly waves back. So, Youngjae has friends; they just, in turn, aren't really the kind of friends who would save you from being tormented by the seniors, and his only friend who would - Kim Himchan - is more often than not skipping school or accompanying his father on a trip across the country or overseas.

Today their homeroom is forming groups for a field trip to Himchan's dad's research facilities, and he visibly exhales when Himchan waltzes in, late and apathetic. The facilities conduct research on health and weapons-related technology, between which Youngjae isn't quite sure what the relation is. He knows from Himchan that they hire a lot of bio and bio-chem majors out of undergrad. It's all very Oscorp and faintly alarming, considering what the tabloids have been writing lately about the other famous corporation - that a genetically-enhanced spider was the truth behind the local hero, Spider-Man; that Norman Osborn himself has spent millions trying to successfully recreate the formula with live trials.

None of the trials have been successful, nor have any of the tabloid rumors proven to be true.

Despite the ludicrous tales, though, other companies, since the first tabloid scandal, have been trying to emulate the same.

The teacher glares at Himchan, at the interruption, but the late student simply salutes him and walks slowly back to his seat next to Youngjae.

.

He's fairly certain that Mr. Kim had set the trip up in order to gain favor with their school's principal and possibly drop few of his son's truant days from his record.

"Your dad  _owns_ this place?" Daehyun whispers to Himchan as soon as they step foot into the lobby of TS Tower. It doesn't really look like a research facility. It looks like a building you'd find in the financial district - clean, modern, with glass and steel structures and an elevator shaft running up the center. Their teacher is reminding the group of the rules as a tour guide comes to greet them. Daehyun has the strap of a DSLR around his neck, and he brings the camera up to snap a picture of the impressive entrance.

"Yeah," Himchan admits, lifting his shoulders in an elegant shrug. He towers over the both of them in presence, and his features are refined to sharp points. Sometimes, Youngjae has to pinch himself to believe that he's really his friend. "You wanna wander around?"

Daehyun snaps another picture.

"Shouldn't we stay with the group?" Youngjae asks uncertainly, heart already leaping to his throat at the thought of being left behind. The group slowly begins to move, and the three of them naturally find themselves drifting toward the back.

"I'm the boss' son," Himchan says. "I'm sure we'll be fine."

Daehyun says, "Let's go look at all the secret, mad-scientist experiments, and I'll take pictures of them for the school paper and expose your dad's company."

Himchan throws him an exasperated look, but doesn't disagree.

.

Turns out that being the boss' son still doesn't give Himchan an all-access pass, so they end up trailing the group for most of the day, anyway, with the click of Daehyun's camera occasionally interrupting the guide's speech as he reminds her he's on the school paper. Overall, rather uneventful.

They see pristine, white labs and holograms projected onto transparent surfaces and screens depicting trial outcomes, but no live tests or mutant insects, much to Daehyun's chagrin. "Let's at least commemorate this experience with a nice picture," he says on their way out.

He arranges them in front of the glass doors, Himchan and Youngjae standing side by side with the sleek TS Tower sign above them. Himchan already looks like the person in charge of the white building, looking casual but powerful in a fitted button-up and dark jeans. Youngjae, on the other hand, feels perpetually like the intern, wearing a t-shirt that probably needs to be washed, a beanie to cover his fluffy hair, and his glasses. 

Not that he has any complaints. He'd rather not have the well-being of hundreds of employees under his purview and has resigned to be content to coast through life.

Daehyun scampers down the steps leading up to the doors and turns again, camera already in place.

"So is that happening yet?" Himchan asks lowly out of the corner of his mouth, tilting his chin a little at the amateur photographer.

"Is what?" Youngjae plays dumb, his breath out of sync when he looks at Daehyun.

"Have you confessed your undying love to him yet," Himchan explains, a little more loudly.

Youngjae nearly jumps. "He's with Yongguk," he mumbles, trying to smile for the camera as Daehyun does a countdown with his fingers.

"So?" Himchan turns to him, that meaningless CEO-smile on his lips. He could make companies fall to his feet in a few years, Youngjae sincerely believes.

"So I'm not a home wrecker," Youngjae says, glaring a little now. The sun is already beginning its descent and throws shadows across his friend's face.

The smile becomes a smirk. Himchan teases, "I almost want to make a move on him just to make you do something about it."

Youngjae shoves him, or he tries to, but at that exact moment, the glass doors behind him open and a man comes striding out, his steps long and hurried, and he knocks right into Youngjae, throwing him off balance and nearly knocking him down the stairs. Himchan reaches out to steady him, but the man continues, not even glancing at the two boys.

Youngjae feels a pinch on his arm where Himchan is gripping him. "Rude!" Himchan yells at the retreating back.

They head down to Daehyun, Youngjae a little unsteady on his feet because of the accident.

"He totally changed the shot," Daehyun complains when they reach him. He shows them the picture, grinning little.

He can't see the man's face, but he can see why Daehyun is grinning: Youngjae looks ridiculous with his arms wind-milling, and the look of utter surprise on Himchan's face is a rare find in and of itself. "Still, not bad, right?"

.

Youngjae doesn't remember falling asleep.

He wakes before his alarm goes off, like emerging for a breath from underwater, the sky still dark outside. He shuts his clock off because he imagines the noise it's about to make and goosebumps rise along the flesh of his arms.

He hears his father snoring down the hall, and his mother watching dramas in the living room with the volume turned down so low she has to put on subtitles. He knows suddenly that she is drinking green tea and eating the leftover take out from a few nights ago, almost as clearly as if he were there with her. He sits up and shakes his head, and then he's back in his own room.

Strange.

His fingers fumble for his glasses on his nightstand, and then he's dragging his exhausted, stiff body to the adjacent bathroom.

He feels like he ran a marathon yesterday, every movement constricted and strained. He flips the bathroom light on and squints into his own reflection.

His outline is fuzzy. He takes off his glasses, squints again, checks his lenses for damage, and realizes that he can  _see_.

Is it possible for someone's vision to be corrected overnight?

It's not just that he can see - it's like he can see everything clearly for the first time. The flecks of lighter brown in his eyes, the tight pores of his skin, the fine veins lying just under the layer of skin at his throat. He looks again at his own reflection, without glasses, and blinks.

Watching himself, he turns on the faucet, amazed at the clarity.

The entire knob comes off in his hand. Water suddenly streams out of the spiget with such force that it rebounds off the sink and into his face and chest, and he sputters, "Holy shit," water in his mouth, while struggling to shut it off again.

Finally, he does, but it looks like he's just tried to turn his own bathroom into a lake, and his shirt is drenched.

His skin prickles. He turns to the closed door before his mother knocks on it, and when she does - two sharp raps - he jumps, because he'd known it would happen.

"You better not be making a mess," his mother says through the door.

"Everything's fine," Youngjae calls back, pulse erratic now. His mother is suddenly too close to him. The door separating them might as well be a sheet of mesh. He can smell the perfume she favors like he'd swallowed the whole bottle himself, and her physical presence feels like he's being squeezed into a cupboard. "Just getting ready."

He feels his mother walking away, and the sensation leaves with her. Slowly, his pulse settles.

His reflection is still clear. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and prepares for school.

.

He tries very hard not to touch anything he doesn't have to touch at school, because he has since learned from this morning that it will either break or - no, that's it: break. 

When the bell rings to signal the start and end of class, he feels it in his very bones and has to grit his teeth against the shrill noise.

Himchan is not there in homeroom, and neither, to Youngjae's surprise, is Daehyun. He sighs, preparing himself for an especially boring day.

The hallways are a disaster. He's never realized how dirty and smelly other boys and girls his age were. Everything seems offensive to his nose, and he has to resort to holding his breath while he walks down the hall to his locker, breathing shallowly through his mouth when he feels like he's about to pass out.

He loses track of the work in front of him because he can hear the teacher across the hall giving out assignments, and the teacher  _down_  the hall, too. It's like everyone decided to leave their doors open and air out their dirty laundry today.

At the very least, he's on edge and hyper-focused, every sound something foreign and new, so he can't really be blamed for reacting the way he does when suddenly a hand claps down on his shoulder at his locker, and he spins without thinking and pins a body against the metal.

He sees a pulse first, thrumming rapidly under the soft skin of the guy's neck. Then the eyes, dark and wider than usual.

Then he realizes he's got Bang Yongguk by the throat against his locker, and half of the eleventh grade frozen in the hallway waiting for the tension to resolve.

Yongguk says, as best he can with Youngjae's palm against his windpipe, "Woah, you been lifting?"

Youngjae lets go. Yongguk drops to his feet with a thud, a hand coming up to his neck to check for damage.

"No," Youngjae chokes out. "I - uh - it's."

He has no answer. It's frustrating, because he  _always_  has an answer. He feels like someone is playing with him, like he's a character in a video game.

Yongguk lifts up his hands in a show of peace. He smiles, and it's easy to see why people love him. He has a great smile. It calms Youngjae down, just a little bit. "I'm not here to start anything. I just wanted to see if you've seen Daehyun today? I know you're his neighbor, or something. He's not in school and he's not answering my texts."

"No," Youngjae says simply, afraid to say anything more. What if this weird thing that was happening to him took control of his vocal cords? What if this was permanent?

"Oh." Yongguk pauses, the smile slowly sliding off his face. "I guess," he continues uneasily, "If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him?"

Youngjae nods, turning to face his locker again. It's happening again - like this morning, with his mother and the bathroom. Yongguk isn't even that close, but he smells his after-shave so potently he thinks he's going to gag, and all the little hairs on his arms are standing at attention, like he's got a small current of electricity running through him.

Now, Yongguk is frowning. "You okay, man? You don't look so hot."

"I'll tell him if I see him," Youngjae grits through his teeth, staring into his locker. He senses more than sees Yongguk reaching out to him, to pat his arm or something, and he flinches hugely, nearly ramming his own elbow into the metal door. "Sorry. I will. Just - I'm fine. Rough day."

"Good thing it's the end, right?" Yongguk offers like an olive branch.

Youngjae nods again, relieved.

As the senior leaves, he realizes he's sure he knows exactly where Daehyun is.

.

Korea Town is a little strip of Seoul packed into one block in Midtown in the city, its stacked restaurants and bars and karaoke rooms and salons their own little metropolis. He knows that here is where he'll find Daehyun, amidst the bright signs and colorful banners and cute logos. They talk about it, occasionally, in their backyards. Daehyun comes here often, with friends, with others. "We should go sometime," he always says to Youngjae, but it's never happened. They aren't friends like that.

He winds his way to an elevator and rides up to the third floor of a building, and when the doors open, it feels like he's been transported to the inside of a disco ball. Everything is silver and metallic and slightly curved, from the small bar in the lobby to the dim lights hanging from the ceiling. Music heavy in bass blares from speakers.

"Hello?" a hostess greets loudly, smiling. Youngjae walks over to her. "Did you have a reservation?"

"No," Youngjae nearly has to yell, over the music. "I'm looking for a friend."

"Oh!" the hostess says, nodding knowingly. She makes a gesture to her hair that could mean anything, really, but Youngjae encourages her anyway. She offers to lead the way.

"I know what room," he lies.

He doesn't, really, but he turns to face the hallway and closes his eyes briefly and wants to try something, so he listens, and suddenly the layout of the karaoke bar is imprinted like a blueprint in his mind, and if he tilts his head just a bit, he catches the tailwind of Daehyun's opening note and is able to follow it, down the hall and around one corner, rooms lining either side of him. The bass-ridden music fades away and Daehyun's voice grows louder.

He stops in front of the door, and peeks in through the small window.

Daehyun is alone. He opens the door and steps in.

And the great thing is, Daehyun doesn't even stop singing. He meets Youngjae's gaze for a half a second before returning to the lyrics being broadcast on one of the monitors and continuing without missing a beat, like he'd expected Youngjae to come, or at least wasn't angry that he showed up.

The decor from the lobby made it into the rooms, too. It's dark but there's a strobe light above them, and pebbles of mirrors glittering the walls flash every time the light flares. The couch lining the back three walls of the room is comfortable, at least. Youngjae sits in the space nearest the door, and listens to the honey tone of Daehyun's singing voice.

The song ends, and Daehyun hadn't put in another. The silence is deafening despite the muffled drum line bleeding through the walls from the music playing in the lobby. Daehyun's bottom lip is split. It must hurt to sing, but he's been doing it anyway. The lighting makes it difficult to see, but it's darker, too, under his right eye, and slightly puffy. 

He sighs, his shoulders rising and falling. "I'm pretty much done," he tells Youngjae.

Youngjae can't look past the cut in Daehyun's lip, can't hear past the music in the lobby, until suddenly he can. The city pushes through the walls of the small room, aggressive and loud and violent. He can hear the cars on the street, a couple exiting the bakery downstairs, the raucous laughter of a man trying to impress his co-workers. Two blocks away there's a man on foot, the click-clack of heels. A woman shouting for him to stop.

He wonders how far he could go, if he could separate the sounds of the whole city at once. He wonders how he'll ever be able to think again, with all the extra noise.

The woman stops running. The man continues on foot. He could follow the man, his footsteps and path; he's sure he's taken something from the woman. He could step out of this building right now and tell a police officer exactly what corner the man would be on next.

He reaches out and grabs the threat to his person, the thing that has encroached his space, and hears a gasp. Youngjae blinks and he's gripping Daehyun's wrist with white knuckles, and Daehyun is biting his lip and opening the cut there back up again. 

"Oh, my god," Youngjae apologizes, immediately letting go. Daehyun cradles his wrist to his chest and rubs life back into it. "I'm so sorry. I didn't - that was - I was just startled. I'm so sorry."

"You looked really out of it," Daehyun sniffs.

"I'm sorry," Youngjae says again.

"Let's go home," Daehyun asks. "And it's okay. I'm pretty hardy."

The train ride back is quiet. Daehyun leans his head onto Youngjae's shoulder at one point and stays there, and they rock with the changes in the track together. The darkness under Daehyun's eye is definitely a bruise. Daehyun worries at his lower lip with his finger tip and his teeth, and Youngjae just worries.

"You could always stay over, you know. If you needed to," he offers, unsure how Daehyun will respond.

He doesn't.

At the corner before they must part ways, though, Daehyun kisses him once on the cheek and says, "Thanks for being such a good friend," and walks home alone.

.

When Youngjae was twelve years old, he'd started piano lessons after school with the music teacher - unofficially and mostly borne out out of some spark his teacher had somehow identified in him, but he found that he liked playing the piano. He liked the way the keys seemed to make sense under his fingers, the way melodies were created.

His music teacher hosted a recital. Youngjae knew his parents wouldn't come, but he was twelve, and so he hoped. Not that it mattered. His parents didn't show up because they were working, or caught in the train during rush hour, or just very tired, they would say, and eventually all the excuses just added up. To his recitals, to events, whatever. It was like living in a house with two complete strangers who fed him and made sure he had proper clothes for the public.

They wanted a son that wasn't any trouble, and that was all.

So Youngjae is twelve years old when he learns that caring is a fool's endeavor, and he resolves to stop caring, too.

It isn't worth wasting the effort. Even so, there are inevitably those who crash through the barriers he puts up, the dull smiles and short answers and general desire to be left alone. The ones who can pull him in from where he's anchored in a sea of his own thoughts. One of those people is Himchan, who, after being held back a year in middle school because of all his cumulative absences, didn't give a rat's ass what anyone thought of him either way, and glued himself to Youngjae's side until he relented. He thought they were kindred spirits. Youngjae still doesn't see it.

And the other one is Daehyun: beautiful, brash, and bruised.

.

Here's what Youngjae knows about super-heroes: they are praised when they win and save lives and exiled and slandered when they don't. 

The things that are happening to him right now - he's read the comics and the tabloids and the interviews. Super-heroes are a dime a dozen in this city. Every corner you turn there's a girl who can lift cars or a boy who can see through walls. There's a change coming. Perhaps it's already come. 

He gets home and passes by his parents who are both eating dinner in the living room, and goes straight up the stairs to his bedroom, where he takes off the layers for the day and sprawls on his back on his squeaky, unmade twin bed.

He doesn't want to be a super-hero. He can barely be a high school student. He can barely be Youngjae.

But he can't sleep because the whole city is now inside his brain, the noises and the smells and the dangers, so he thinks.

He thinks back to when this all started, just this morning, waking up like he'd been given the strength of the Hulk and the eyes of Hawkeye, the reflexes of Black Widow. And wasn't that something? Weren't all of these things strangely familiar to him?

He thinks back a little further, to the field trip to TS Tower. They'd wandered with the group, hadn't seen anything strange. Daehyun had taken their picture outside. 

A thread of an idea rushes past his mind.

He grabs his phone from out of his pocket and texts Himchan.

_So what super secret tests does your dad do, anyway? Genetic mutations? Cross-species breeding?_

Himchan is quick to reply.

_Just the usual. Lizards and spiders and stuff._

Youngjae tosses the phone to his bed. The guy who had bumped into them on the stairs - after that, he'd felt a pinch in his arm. Now that's he focusing on it, the area of the pinch is feeling a little warm, a little sharp. He sits up and carefully rolls up the sleeve of his shirt to his bicep and looks, and sure enough, there's an angry raised bump on his upper arm. 

Sighing, he stands again and straightens out the covers of his bed, and when he does, he sees it. A black dot amid the blue fabric. He peers closer, and it's a dead spider, almost the size of a quarter, legs curled into its body and stiff.

Youngjae frowns at it. It doesn't look like anything special. All the rumors around Spider-Man had claimed the spider that bit him to be a strange blue and red color, because of the mutation.

Of course Youngjae would be bitten by a mediocre mutated spider.

The guy who bumped into them, Youngjae realizes, had been in a hurry because he'd been trying to  _steal_  it.

He finds an empty ziplock back in his bookbag and puts the spider in it, for safe keeping, and then he puts the bag in the back of his sock drawer, as far back as he can get it, because he's sure he doesn't want to see it again.

Himchan texts,  _Why? You interested in seeing it?_

 _Not especially_ , Youngjae texts back.

Himchan says:  _Weirdo : <,_ and Youngjae chuckles.

.

For a week, he learns to adjust to his newly developed, heightened senses; sometimes he keeps his earbuds in during class without any music playing through them, because it's not like his teachers notice, anyway. So he runs a little faster in gym, sees a little farther in math, has reflexes that prevent him from spilling a questionably fresh, piping hot bowl of cafeteria-made chicken noodle soup down the front of an unsuspecting sophomore. 

He's always been best at shutting things out, and this is no different. After a week, it's like nothing has even changed at all.

The days are growing short as winter takes hold of the city. When Youngjae leaves the school building, the sky is already dark and the street lights already glaring. Ice coats some of the windows of the cars parked along the curb on his walk home. He'd left Himchan at the corner, and he hasn't seen Daehyun all day. He feels sluggish in the cold, moreso than usual, and a quick reference check to Wikipedia informs him that many spiders deal with the cold by not dealing with it at all - by hibernating, or simply slowing down.

Which is just perfect, he thinks to himself bitterly, making a mental note to wear more layers from now on. He wonders if Spider-Man has to deal with anything similar.

The walk is familiar - he passes under the platform for the train running over a major avenue in Queens, dodging melting snow and watching his breath form a mist in front of him. The sign of a local bodega flickers to his right, and hasn't been fixed for months. He crosses the street and freezes, because he'd heard something.

A muffled grunt, a groan. The sound of a boot connecting with gut. Youngjae exhales and knows the scuffle is taking place just a block away, in an alley by a small Bengali restaurant, and mentally calculates how long it would take for him to walk around it, to miss it by an entire block. He doesn't want to get dragged in.

Then he hears, "This is all I've got," followed by another thud and grunt, and he knows it's not some backyard fight, but a robbery. 

His feet stay planted firmly in place.

He could ignore it; he could go. He could call the police and leave an anonymous tip. His blood starts to pump in his ears, though. The cries of the guy being robbed are growing louder. He'll hear them even when they stop.

Youngjae runs.

He takes in the scene quickly: a guy on the ground, two guys standing over him, one with a wallet in his hands and the other with a knife. His back pocket holds a handgun. The guy on the ground is old enough to be Youngjae's dad, and bleeding from his cheek. 

Youngjae says, "Um."

The guy with the knife chucks it at him. Youngjae gapes as the metal nears his face, as he watches it seem to slow down in front of him, point treacherous and close, and then he dodges it easily. He hears the knife clatter to the sidewalk behind him. 

Then the other guy moves. He aims a kick at Youngjae's stomach, but Youngjae jumps on reflex, easily clearing the guy's head, flips over him, and lands on the other side, in front of the older man who had been robbed, who was now opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

Youngjae holds his hands up in front of him, a show of peace rather than continued violence, and finds his voice. "I don't want any trouble. Give him back his wallet, please."

Well, they don't want to do that. One of them lunges forward, meaning to tackle Youngjae to the ground, but again Youngjae dodges, and, like he's one of those action doubles in the movies, flips off the wall and spins a kick to the back of the offender's neck, bringing him down. He lands light on his feet, springy. Youngjae gasps, looking down at his own form.

The remaining guy growls, and Youngjae puts his fists up. "I really don't want any trouble."

"Yeah?" he spits. "Then why are you making it?" 

Some time between the failed tackle and the kick, this one had pulled out his gun, and now it was pointing straight at Youngjae, and all Youngjae could see was the black barrel of it, so close and real. His hand shakes around it. He's not going to pull the trigger, not on a kid. Youngjae calculates, and then he moves.

The guy doesn't pull the trigger, but it's a near thing. It doesn't matter, though, because now he's got his wrist pulled against his chest and the gun is in Youngjae's hand, and Youngjae grips it a little too tight, the metal denting in his fist. He drops it, mangled and relatively useless.

The guy runs. 

His friend, conscious again, follows him.

Slowly, the adrenaline leaves his system enough that he can swoop down and pick up the wallet that was dropped. He turns and hands it to the remaining man, who is still mouth-breathing at him like he's the second coming of Christ.

Youngjae pulls up the hood of his jacket, the wind whistling in his ears, and heads home.

.

As it is, when he gets home, there's someone waiting for him.

There are his parents in the kitchen with their arms crossed in their seats, looking very stern and very ruffled sitting across from a poised, sharply dressed young woman who can't be older than twenty-five, who smiles as soon as Youngjae enters and wanders into the kitchen, looking for a pre-dinner snack because saving people from being robbed seems to work up his appetite.

"Hello," the young woman greets nicely, with a large, toothy smile. 

She's very pretty, Youngjae thinks objectively. Shoulder-length black hair and side-swept bangs, a face of small features except for her mouth, which continues to smile, seemingly unaware of the frowns on his parents' faces.

"Yoo Youngjae," the woman continues, gesturing at the remaining seat at the table. "Please sit."

Like it's not his own freaking house. Youngjae takes an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter and sits, his back pack clunking behind him.

"Your parents were kind enough to let me in," she says. "But we won't be needing their presence anymore."

Stunned, Youngjae glances at his mother and father, who look to be on the verge of protesting, but the stranger shoots them a stern glare, softened (or perhaps, hardened) by that endearing smile, and they both stand, chairs scraping, and go.

"You take care of this," his mother mumbles under her breath, stern and angry.

The woman watches them leave the kitchen, and stares at the entryway for a good ten seconds before she shudders and says, "Wow, nasty."

"What?"

"Your parents. Not the greatest people, huh?"

Youngjae rolls the apple between his hands on the kitchen table. "I guess? And you are...?"

"Hyoseong," she answers readily, clicking her tongue. She sits back and crosses her legs, smiling when Youngjae noticeably does not follow the movement with his eyes. "Just Hyoseong for now. I'm with S.H.I.E.L.D. Do you know S.H.I.E.L.D?"

Of course Youngjae knows S.H.I.E.L.D. After the fiasco with the aliens and that manic god, who didn't know them? The clean-up after the event had been extraordinary and consumed the entire city. Youngjae shrugs. 

"You know S.H.I.E.L.D," Hyoseong nods. She leans forward, elbows onto the table, and puts flat on top of it a case that Youngjae hadn't noticed before, matte metal and locked with a security code. Hyoseong punches numbers into the keypad and the case hisses open.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Youngjae tries to peers into it, but only sees black fabric.

"We've been monitoring you," she continues. Youngjae narrows his eyes at the word. He doesn't like it. What else have they been monitoring? "Nothing intrusive," she amends, seeming to know his every thought. "We traced the lost specimen to you and were going to stay hands off, let you do you, but then you showed potential."

"What," Youngjae asks. "Tonight? With that thing in the alley?"

Hyoseong nods.

"Seems like you've been monitoring pretty intrusively."

She laughs. Her laugh is like Daehyun's, uninhibited but bordering on fake. "Okay," she says. "You got me."

She pushes the case toward him. It takes a moment for him to realize that she hadn't used her hands.

"There's a contract in there, under the uniform, and a cell phone. The deal is basically this: you go to school, you train with us, you don't go dark side. TS Tower's genetics lab has been taken under S.H.I.E.L.D custody."

"So I have to save people all the time, now?" Youngjae thinks about all the crime in New York City. It sounds exhausting.

Hyoseong cocks her heads to the side, her hair flopping with it. "It's your choice. It's always your choice. But it's also your responsibility, to know your own strength, to know your own limits."

"Sounds horrible," Youngjae hums, glaring. He'd worked for a week to ignore what he could do, to be normal again.

Hyoseong shrugs. "Either way, I'm leaving the case with you. You sign the contract, you call me with that phone. You don't want anything to do with us? You close the case and call it a day. The lock will stop responding to your fingerprints in a month."

"Where did you get my  _fingerprints_?"

Hyoseong smirks but doesn't answer the question. She says, "You've got the makings, kiddo. You could do some real good."

"I don't want to be a super-hero," Youngjae admits. "I want to be a high school student."

The agent sighs. "The uniform isn't what makes the hero," she tells him.

.

School bores him, can't hold him down. His attention drifts because his hearing drifts, even though he's getting better at increasing the range of his hearing. There are days when he feels like he's floating above everyone else, in a specially-made cloud, untouchable but witnessing everyone's misery.

Himchan is sullen because his father won't take him out of school anymore, especially now that he is so busy fighting the government occupation of his genetics labs. Youngjae considers telling Himchan about Hyoseong's visit, but ultimately decides it's not worth mentioning. He's not going to call her, even if he's left the case under his bed, and takes it out every so often, feeling the material of the uniform with his fingers.

It's like under-armor, but tougher. Stretchy and elastic and sleek. He tried it on and it was a perfect fit, black with subtle white webbing, lens for the eyes in the mask.

Daehyun slides into the seat across from him in the cafeteria, bringing him out of his thoughts. Youngjae blinks.

"What are you thinking about?" Daehyun takes a huge bite of his sandwich, and steals one of Youngjae's fries.

"Spandex," Youngjae says honestly.

"Oh?" This causes Daehyun to tilt his head in question. "On anyone in particular?"

"No, just...how stretchy it is."

Youngjae sighs heavily, and Daehyun laughs. He's reminded of Hyoseong again. "You're the only person I know who could have a mental crisis over spandex," Daehyun informs him gleefully. 

The next morning, he's going through the metal detectors when he sees a familiar scene: the hook-nosed senior about to shove the pink-haired freshman into the wall. He reaches them just as the senior is about to shove him again, and he puts a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," Youngjae says, exasperated more than brave. "Leave him alone."

"What's it to you?" the senior growls, getting right up in his face, freshman forgotten, for now. Youngjae holds his ground.

He shrugs. "Nothing, really. Just tired of watching you make this kid miserable."

The senior breathes in his face for a small moment, considering. Finally, he straightens, and motions to his friend who usually accompanies him on his daily terrorizing rituals. "You've got a target on your back now," he promises. Then, he stalks off.

Youngjae watches him go, a strange feeling pulling at his chest. He turns back to the freshman and picks up the kid's back pack, which had fallen to the ground.

"You should have just started going in the other entrance," he scolds him softly.

The kid kneels and picks up his books, stuffing them into the bag as Youngjae holds it up for him. "Why? So he could just find someone else to pick on?" the freshman asks him, eyes glittering, defiant.

No, Youngjae looks again. Righteous.

"Thanks for your help," the kid says. "I'm Junhong. I'm kind of new here? I mean, everyone's kind of new freshman year, but I, like, moved here at the beginning of the year, so I'm extra new."

"Youngjae."

"Are you new?"

Youngjae shakes his head.

"So how come I've never seen you around?"

What he's really asking is: How come you didn't help me, earlier?

Youngjae shrugs again. "I tend to keep to myself."

"That's a shame."

"Why?"

"You were just really cool, right then." Junhong launches into a re-enacting of the scene as they walk towards the metal detectors. "What's it to you?" he mocks the senior. "And you, you were just like, 'nothing, bitch. I see you and you mean nothing to me.'"

"I'm pretty sure that's not what I said," Youngjae argues, but he's smiling. The kid has a lot of energy, and most of it positive.

"Yeah, you were like, 'fuck you, I'm twice the man you are, I'll kick your face in, hargh.'"

"Definitely not what I said."

They part ways when Youngjae has to get to the science lab and Junhong to the math wing for homeroom. Rumor travels quickly through the walls of the school, and by the time Daehyun joins him for homeroom, he's already heard.

"You saved a kid from Zico?" Daehyun asks him before he has to take his seat near the front of the room.

"Is that the guy's name?" Youngjae muses aloud, picturing the senior and assigning him the moniker. 

"Good," Daehyun nods firmly, once. "That's really - cool, Youngjae."

He stares as Daehyun's cheeks blossom with color, as the boy stutters out, "Oh, did you get contacts again? You never wear your glasses anymore, even though you look pretty cute in them."

Then he walks to his seat and places himself on top of it, very purposefully not looking back at his neighbor.

.

Sometimes, on his way to school or back, he'll time himself to see how quickly he can go. He can scale walls that would give cat burglars trouble, and leap across rooftops like a cartoon character. He can jump and clear a story, no problem. He can lift a car off its tires with one hand, no sweat.

He buys a pair of glasses that have no prescription and starts wearing them to school.

.

It's the middle of the night, but Youngjae shakes awake abruptly, senses heightened and ears ringing, heart hammering in his chest until he can pinpoint the sound that woke him - a screen door slamming open, the low tones of a man spitting mad and growling, a sharp, bright sting of skin on skin, and then a cry.

Youngjae swiftly pulls on a hoodie and climbs out of bed, fluid as he opens his window and crawls out easily, landing on the grass of their backyard on light feet. The fence between their houses is low; Youngjae can see everything as Daehyun's step-father drags Daehyun out by the arm and neck, his fingers tight around the collar of Daehyun's shirt. The moon shines silver light on them, and Daehyun is crying.

"This is  _my_ house," his step-dad is hissing, punctuating the statement with a rough shake, and Daehyun whimpers, fingers grappling with the grip the older man has on him. "I won't have you bringing your fairy friends to  _my fucking house_!"

And then he decks him, hard, in the part that will hurt the most - the solar plexus - and Daehyun yells, his cry cut short when the man backhands him, his grip still tight around Daehyun's arm. "You shut your mouth. Don't make a fucking noise."

Youngjae clears the fence without realizing it, his very limbs shaking from what he's seeing. "Get away from him!" he shouts, stopping short of barreling into him. His breath comes out in fog. Daehyun is wearing only a thin t-shirt and boxers, and Youngjae can see the goosebumps raised up along his arms. 

The older man freezes but doesn't let go. He stares Youngjae straight in the eyes and growls, "This is my property."

He smells like alcohol. 

Daehyun has fallen to his knees. His fingers no longer push and pull at the grips on him, but Youngjae can hear him whispering, over and over again, "Please let me go. Please let me go. Let me go."

"Is he another one of your queer buddies?" his step-father asks hysterically, red in the face. He shakes Daehyun again, Daehyun's head rattling, and all he does is sniffle and says, "No, please. No, he's not. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Let him go," Youngjae says again, putting more resolve into his voice. "I'm calling the police."

Daehyun is shaking his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

"Call them," the man spits. "Call them and they'll lock this little shit up and he'll get exactly what he deserves." 

He moves again as though to slap his boy, and that jolts Youngjae into action. He throws himself at the larger man and rips his hands away from Daehyun, and when they tumble together, he uses everything he's got to gain the upper hand and toss the guy into the side of Daehyun's house. He doesn't get back up.

For a moment, Youngjae just breathes. Daehyun's step-father is not dead, just passed out. Then, he turns to Daehyun.

He's on his hands and knees, in the grass, and when Youngjae reaches out to him, he flinches, breath hitching, and doesn't look at him. Youngjae's heart is breaking at the sight, at Daehyun trying to pull himself together again, at realizing how often he's probably had to do this in his life, and he wonders if the smiles Daehyun offers the world can be genuine, if this is what he's got behind him. 

"I'm sorry," Youngjae says, for everything, for not doing more, for not acting sooner. "I'm so sorry."

" _Youngjae_ ," Daehyun whispers, wretched, before he collapses to the ground, face buried in his forearms. He cries in near silence, and it's an awful thing.

"Let's get out of here," Youngjae whispers back, almost pleading. Daehyun is the strong one, Youngjae has always thought, confident and lovely and proud. Now, stripped of those things, he sees how great an actor Daehyun is, and doesn't think any less of him for it.

Youngjae gathers Daehyun up in his arms, like a child, and Daehyun lets himself be held, be carried, to Youngjae's open window, and then to Youngjae's bed. He doesn't ask Youngjae how he got to the second floor with no stairs and no trouble, and he doesn't ask Youngjae if he should sleep on the floor. They lie on top of Youngjae's covers facing one another, and Daehyun reaches out to trace the contours of Youngjae's lips with his finger.

"Are you all right?" Youngjae asks him as quietly as he can, loathe to break the silence of the now-still night. It's a stupid question. 

Daehyun doesn't answer it. Instead, he murmurs, low and sleepy, "I was with Yongguk, you know? I told Yongguk to get out, and he did. I mean - I told him to. He left me with - him. But you came right on over. Running into danger."

"Hardly dangerous," Youngjae whispers.

"My hero," Daehyun whispers back, smiling.

A pause. The moonlight cuts across Daehyun's face beautifully. Youngjae says, "I think you should call the police."

It's the wrong thing to say.

Daehyun's eyes glass over, and his lips set into a grim line.

"What?" Youngjae breathes.

"Oh, Youngjae," Daehyun says, low and toneless. "It won't do any good. My step-dad's a cop. Didn't you know?"

.

The next day, Youngjae wakes to Daehyun already gone and the other side of his bed cold. There's a spot of blood on his pillow.  

He rolls over and reaches under his bed, pulling out the case Hyoseung presented to him almost a month ago. It's been gathering dust. 

He presses his fingers into the handle and the lock clicks, and the case hisses open, like it has for the past few weeks. He pulls it up onto the bed with him and shifts to sitting, digging his hand into its contents until he finds what he's looking for. 

First, the contract. When he'd been given it, he'd expected the contract to be paper, but instead it was a tablet with a program installed onto it, and all Youngjae had to do was swipe the tablet on and use his finger to sign the document that was pre-loaded onto its screen. He did so.

Second, the phone.

He takes it out, a sleek new model that looks like Stark, and hits call, knowing intuitively that it will connect to Hyoseong. Sure enough, Hyoseong answers, her voice bright at the other end of the line.

"Oh," she says cheerfully. "Hello, Youngjae."

Youngjae taps his fingers against the side of the metal case, finding comfort in the pattern of sound. He announces, "I'm keeping the uniform."

Hyoseong sighs. He can  _hear_ her smiling.

"When do we start?"

.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by [pufferfacejae](http://pufferfacejae.tumblr.com/): Wildest B.A.P dreams? Hmmm okay Spiderman daejae! BAHAHHA! I know! I know so weird! But Youngjae has to be nerdy Peter Parker and Daehyun must be sexy Mary Jane! OHH! Please add the scene in the rain when they kiss lol god this is going to be so good! Thank you in advance!!
> 
> So, I'm sorry I didn't get to the kiss I guess I will just have to expand and create more parts.
> 
> Also thank you for the lovely prompt it was LITERALLY ALL I WANTED.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://paperkrane.tumblr.com) or [give me a prompt](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com/ask) :)


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